


Memory- Prompt 21

by Name1



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Comfort, F/M, Pre-Relationship, friends to something more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:55:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23779492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Name1/pseuds/Name1
Summary: “I can’t believe I forgot.”She said it so quietly and matter-of-factly that he almost missed it.“Forgot what?” For the life of him he can’t figure out what she could have forgotten that would crack her stoic game face during a job.“What yesterday was. The start of the war,” she says simply, as if that explains everything that’s gone on with her today.It takes him a minute to put together what’s she’s saying. He does some quick math and overlays it on his mental calendar. ‘Yesterday wasn't the anniversary of the start of the war,’ he thinks to himself. What is she talkin----Oh.Oh.
Relationships: Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Cara Dune & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Cara Dune & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Cara Dune/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Comments: 31
Kudos: 86
Collections: The Mandalorian Ficathon — April 2020





	Memory- Prompt 21

**Author's Note:**

> Another prompt before April is over :D  
> This was supposed to be fluff, but writing this over my lunch break resulted in just angst and feels instead.  
> I apologize for the typos and rushed editing. I'll try to fix mistakes as I catch them.  
> thanks for sticking with me :)

Cara had been ruthless holding her own in that standoff today until the moment Din knew something was off. 

Everything was fine that morning when they woke up, suited up, and headed out for the day to take out that small outpost with as little attention drawn to themselves as possible. Halfway through the shootout though something had changed in her face. Her eyes almost seemed to glaze over, but she said she hadn’t been injured when he asked her in a panicked voice from across the room. She had looked down at her arm just a minute before, but what could she have possibly seen there to cause that sort of reaction if not a wound?

The pair of them took out the remaining Imps quickly and efficiently but she was shooting 2-, even 3-shots into their armor where one would have sufficed. She was angry and distracted and Din felt himself worry about her during a fight for maybe the first time ever. When the job was done, she had lingered, seemingly lost in thought and he had to practically drag her back to the Crest to keep her from loitering until more reinforcements came.

_Something was off._

Usually, they joked and compared notes on who clocked the most shots the whole way back the ship, but she was eerily quiet today. He asked again if she had been hurt and again she simply said ‘no’ without elaborating.

The ramp retracted and Din waited until the doors were closed and they had left the ground before he couldn’t hold his tongue anymore. “Come on, out with it,” he demanded, feeling more than a little on edge with her strange behavior. He knew Cara Dune pretty well by now, and not knowing what was going on in her head made him feel uneasy. They had only been traveling together for a few weeks, but they had been so open with one another there were few things he felt he didn’t know about her and vice versa. For example, he knew that as soon as a mission was over, despite her meticulous care with weapons and armor upkeep, she liked to strip off her armor as fast as possible and toss it carelessly aside until one of them ended up tripping over it later. At his request she had just recently started hanging it on the hooks he had installed just for her.

He didn’t mean his words to come out so harshly so he turned to where she should already have half her armor off by now and rephrased his question. “What’s going on? You’re acting wei---” His words die in his throat when he sees Cara sitting with her back against the wall in their staging area. _Just sitting._ Not a single piece of armor had been removed, and she was just sitting on the bench, staring off into space as if he wasn’t there at all.

“Cara, you okay?” He was worried now, he’d admit it. _Maybe she hadn’t been shot but could she have hit her head?_

The uneasiness in his stomach only grew when she didn’t even seem to have registered his voice.

“Hey,” he tried again, speaking gently to her in case she startled when she came around. “I’m going to touch your head okay?” he warned her, before he started to check her over.

No response.

He moved his hands quickly over her scalp and neck to check for any sign of trauma or bruising. Finding none, he knelt in front of her on the floor directly in her line of sight to get her attention.

“Cara,” he says again, and he reaches up to turn her face so she’s looking at him. “Seriously, joke’s over, what’s wrong. What happened?” He doesn’t mean for his voice to sound so rough, so demanding, but he’s actually worried and it’s putting him on edge. He knows Cara can take care of herself, but something must have happened out there. Could one of those troopers have gotten close to her or said something to her?

“Did something happen out there?”

She shakes her head seeming to snap out of whatever came over her moments ago. ‘ _Oh good_ ,’ he thinks to himself, ‘ _at least she’s answering questions now_.’

“I’m better now, can you just let it go?” she asks, after trying and failing to convince him she’s completely fine now after whatever moment she just had. "I'm fine."

“I don’t think you’re fine. What is it?” he asks, “you can tell me. Maybe I can help.” He’s never been good at talking about feelings or things that really matter but if there’s anyone in the galaxy he will make an attempt for, it’s Cara; he only hopes he’s up to the task. He’s rarely seen a time where she needed anyone’s help but if this is one of those rare times, he doesn’t want to let her down. Since taking her on as his partner, his friend, and whatever they are becoming in between, they are responsible for each other now and he wants to prove to her she didn’t make a mistake traveling with him and the kid.

Her only response to his question was to let out the most pitiful excuse of a laugh he’s ever heard. He can tell it wasn’t aimed at him though, only at herself. He knows the differences in her laughs now and he has them all catalogued in his head for easy recall. He knows the differences in their pitch, their intensity, and often the smirk that accompanies them. This is definitely a self-deprecating laugh; he’d bet credits on it.

He makes himself more comfortable on the floor. ‘ _I can wait her out_ ,’ he thinks. She’s important to him and something had clearly gotten to her. If she didn’t want to talk about it, he would respect that even though a part of him feels strangely and probably unreasonably hurt that she doesn’t feel she can share her problems with him. ‘ _No, this isn’t about you, don’t even go there_ ,’ he thinks.

He feels her keep glancing at him out of the corner of her eye and she’s seems annoyed he’s just sitting there. Good, annoyed Cara is a Cara he can work with.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want, but I’m not moving until I know you’re okay to be left on your own.”

“I’m not a child,” she replies shortly. She feels mortified that he even noticed something was amiss. She thought she had her reaction under control. Had she really been that obvious? How was she supposed to look hm in the eye (visor really) knowing that he saw her during a moment of weakness? He doesn’t seem like he’s making fun of her though, just worried. Maybe he will let it go if she can convince him she’s fine, she thinks.

“Bean talks more than you are right now, so you can see how I could forget,” he comes back at her hoping to get her to smile, but it receives nothing. Usually she’d smack him or make some joking reply that would make them both laugh but all she says is a little sad, “please don’t, not now”. She’s not how much longer she can keep it together with him trying to make her smile to cover his worry about her.

“I’m sorry. I’ll cut it out,” he promises. “I just don’t know what to do here. Can you give me something to go on?”

“I’m _fine_ ,” she finally manages to say with a steady voice, and he’s just relieved to hear her voice back to normal. She doesn’t want to keep things from him especially when it apparently affected her ability to finish the job earlier, but she couldn’t bear to see him look at her like she’s some weak or fragile _thing_. ‘Who am I kidding?’ she thinks. She can’t choose anything but honesty when he looks at her like that; patiently on the ground waiting to hear what’s bothering her so he can try to help her. She’ll be honest and then excuse herself to her bunk until she can get herself back under control enough so he’s no longer looking at her like she might crack at any second. She’ll just tell him the truth and change the subject to move on as quickly as possible; she just has to gather the courage to say it out loud.

A few more minutes go by in silence and he kind of zones out himself sitting on the ground before she finally spoke in a quiet defeated voice, “I can’t believe I forgot.”

She said it so quietly and matter-of-factly that he almost missed it.

“Forgot what?” For the life of him he can’t figure out what she could have forgotten that would crack her stoic game face during a job.

“What yesterday was. The start of the war,” she says simply, as if that explains everything that’s gone on with her today.

It takes him a minute to put together what’s she’s saying. He does some quick math and overlays it on his mental calendar. ‘ _Yesterday wasn't the anniversary of the start of the war_ ,’ he thinks to himself. What is she talkin----Oh.

Oh.

In the time it took him to put it together she starts talking again. “We were clearing out those last few troopers and I looked at my chronometer to see when we were due to be back at the ship. I just saw the date in my periphery…… _yesterday_ was the date that the war started for me and I forgot. The first time in all these years…”

He knew what she wasn’t saying. The day the war started for her was the date her planet had been destroyed, the day she woke up like every other day but went to sleep having lost everything: Her family, her friends, her culture, her future she had looked forward to…..all of it. The way she had said it, the meaning was clear; she felt as though she carried the weight of remembering her people on her shoulders alone and she had somehow let them down.

He has no idea what to say to make this better for her.

“I forgot.” They are only two words but somehow she managed to pack so much guilt, regret, and self-hatred into them he couldn’t help but feel his heart ache in time with hers.

When she spoke it was like she was talking to herself. “I’ve lived ONLY to remember that date for all these years. I’ve thought of nothing else except revenge. How could I forget?” she finally looks to him for answers, but he doesn’t have any. She feels guilty, like she did something wrong for not letting it fill her thoughts every second of every day. “That’s what was wrong,” she says finally, hoping he will let the subject drop. 

In another lifetime he would want to tell her that forgetting even for an hour much less a day was a sign that she was finally on the path healing and moving on, but that would only drive her further into the spiral of guilt he was all too familiar with. He could never say those words to her now, so he waited to get a clue of what he could say to ease her suffering.

“It’s _my_ fault,” he instantly says, trying to give her somewhere to place the blame. In this moment he doesn’t care if she hates him for a time as long as she stops hating herself. “The kid was sick yesterday and you stayed up with him all night, remember? That combined with the planning I asked you to help me with for today must have thrown off your internal clock, that’s all. You have nothing to feel guilty about, Cara. Yesterday was crazy, and you still probably have kid puke in your hair right now. It’s not your fault. Blame me instead.”

She can see him trying to comfort her and it snaps her out of her funk. She sees what he’s doing, and her heart feels strange at the feeling his actions bring to the surface. He’s trying to take the blame to spare her and she can’t handle what that gesture means.

“Don’t give me that worried look on your helmet,” she says trying to lighten the mood. She hates being the center of attention and she honestly can’t believe she said as much as she did. How will she ever live down the embarrassment? She never talked about _that day_ , but there was just something about Din’s quiet worry that wore her down and now he’ll never look at her the same way again, she just knows it.

….the only person whose opinion every really mattered to her and she managed to ruin it in a single moment of emotional weakness. This was the reason she shoved everything so far down she could barely remember what she was actively trying to not feel anymore.

It was _her_ turn to reassure _him_ now. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine,” she says, and even flashed him a quick smile. Hopefully he got the message, she can’t be much clearer than that.

Din moves to stand and she feels relieved he’s letting her off the hook so she can go lick her wounds in private later. She must have done a decent job convincing him, she thinks.

She’s surprised when he stands only to lower himself in all him Beskar-covered glory onto the bench beside her to rest himself against the wall shoulder to shoulder with her.

“What are you doing?” she asks, as if he had lost his mind. _Just what the hell did he think he was doing?_

“Just sitting here, NOT worrying about you, like you asked. Don’t mind me.”

“Aren't you going to say something philosophical? That’s what people do when awkwardly confronted with someone else’s grief isn’t it?” She feels guilty for how she practically spat those words at him, but she was embarrassed and on the verge of tears and it made her lash out at the only person who cared enough to be there with her. It was ironic really-pushing him away so she can add loneliness to her list of worries made _perfect fucking_ sense. _Gods, she was such an asshole. Has he not figured that out by now?_

“I’m not going to attempt anything philosophical unless you want me to; you know how terrible I am with words,” he said in response to her question. After a minute he says with more than a little hesitation, “what could I possibly say that would help?”

She doesn’t say anything but she doesn’t have to; he already knows. He knows there’s nothing he could say that would make her feel better.

“I don’t have any pretty words or motivational uplifting speech to give you, but if you want to talk, I'll _listen_. That’s something I can do.”

She scoffs and turns her head away. “Great, so you can think I'm even more of a weak, pathetic, _emotional_ wreck? No thanks.” She’s getting nasty, but he’s not letting her push him away just because she’s hurting. He can see through her posturing and her aggressive words for what they are; a method of self-preservation. ‘Don’t get close to anyone, you’ll just lose them too.’ Din’s embarrassed to say how many decades of his life he lived under those same principles and it wasn’t until he met this woman before him did he realize how wrong he had been. Still, if she wants him to go, he’ll go, but he won’t leave her alone until he’s sure she’s in a good place.

“I think you’re human....that’s all,” he says. “You’d still be the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

She just scoffs again, decidedly not looking at him.

He tries a different approach. “You know, I've lost things too. I might be able to identify with you on some small level” He says it to be sympathetic but cringes when it clearly only makes her feel even more guilty. _Well, he fucked that approach up spectacularly._ “I know you have, Din. Of course, you know what it’s like,” she says apologetically. “I’m not saying my grief is worse than yours.” She breathes out a heavy sigh and at least if she’s focused on his feelings, she’s not focused on her own grief. “I’m sorry,” she says again. “I'm not trying to make it into a contest.”

He actually laughs at that and it catches her attention. “Cara Dune, you can make _anything_ into a contest and you know it.” She actually chuckles because she knows he’s right, and he feels his chest warm with pride at getting her to laugh.

Din reveled in hearing her laugh and tried to entice another from her lips. “Do you remember that time you bet me you could disassemble your blaster faster than I could and I almost shot you when my gun accidentally discharged?” He points over to the far wall and states, “there's still a burn mark on the wall over there. You told me not to worry about it because ‘some men get too excited sometimes’, remember....?” She can’t help but laugh at remembering that day.

It had been one of the first days back on the ship after he returned for her on Nevarro and she worried she had already worn out her welcome when she baited Din into that stupid game which led to that hole in the wall, but he had surprised her by laughing so loudly and carefree she kept baiting him into more stupid games in hopes of hearing just once more. After he had stopped laughing, he had said something along the lines of “the ship was boring as hell without you Cara, I’ll give you that.” Her response was one of her finer moments as she just responded by saying, “Din, are you’re trying to say you only prematurely discharge your weapon when I’m around? I’m flattered.” It made him laugh just remembering it.

Back in the present with Cara, he gestures to the wall once more before saying, “one day I’m going to fix that hole in the wall, but it’s such a good reminder not to bet against you I can’t bring myself to do it.”

She can’t hold in the laugh that comes out of her at the memory. “Don't make me laugh Din, I'm trying to be a miserable sad bitch over here wallowing in self-pity. Can’t you tell?” He chances putting his arm around her and he knew it was the right thing to do when she completely melted into his embrace. Maybe talking was overrated. Maybe this was all she needed; a comforting presence silent at her side.

Their armor clanks together awkwardly but they still manage to get close enough that she can feel his warmth seeping into her. She doesn’t keep her face turned away at this close range, there’s no point. She just leans her head back against him with her eyes closed and simply breathes in the comfort she gleans from his presence. She’s resting the side of her face against his helmet and it’s surprisingly comfortable for steel, so she’s surprised when he lifts it off his head to rest it beside him. The room is dark so he’s perfectly at ease when he leans his head back against hers and she presses her face up against his chin where the was Beskar just a second ago. This isn’t the first time she’s felt his beard, but it’s the first time she’s felt it so openly and for such an extended period of time. She turns her face more into it so the coarseness of his stubble is all she can feel against her cheek and her temple. The texture and the smell of him this close is distracting and she’s unsure whether this was part of his plan or not.

“You _can_ let it out you know, if you want,” says, once they’ve gotten comfortable. “For all the joking about feelings and words, you know I won't hold it against you. If you’d rather be alone though, I can go stay in the cockpit if you need time.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says, “this is _your_ ship, you shouldn't have to go hide somewhere because I’m a wreck.”

“This is _our_ ship now and you’re not a wreck.”

A few minutes pass in companionable silence, night-and-day different from the standoffish silence from earlier.

She finds her voice to finally speak again after enjoying the silence of sitting with him.

“I don’t want to be alone,” she admits, and she feels like she’s confessing to some terrible crime by voicing it aloud, but he’s offering so she doesn’t have to beg. “Could you stay?”

“Our armor is so tangled together, I might have to stay for hours.” He’s no idiot. He knows what that must have cost her to ask. He hopes she can read him well enough to know he just wants to help her feel better, not embarrass her further.

“Good,” she replies, “I have hours to spare.”

“We can talk about anything or nothing, you tell me what you need.”

Cara has to turn her head as she feels those damn tears she refuses to let fall building up behind her eyes. They’re not due to her sadness; she’s had _years_ of practice pushing _that_ down, but these bloom from his patience and his obvious concern over her. _Why did gentleness being tears to her eyes more than a blaster shot to the chest? Probably because it was so rare where physical pain had been so plentiful. Despite his lifestyle and background Din had gentleness to spare when it really mattered._

“It's okay to let it show on your face too, you know,” he says as he feels her head turn away from him.

“That’s easy for you to say,” she says in response. “You have that helmet to hide behind. I don't.”

“I'll lend it to you for an hour if it makes you feel better.” He makes an effort to push it into her hands and she slaps his hands away. _Had he ever handed his helmet to anyone else before?_

She snorts out a wet laugh. “I told you, don't make me laugh. I appreciate the effort, but there’s no need. I feel better already, really.”

“Yeah, you sound _just great_ ,” he says, and the sarcasm is so heavy there’s no missing it. You really think I can’t tell from your voice you’re still sad?”

“I’m not even sad really, that’s not the right word,” she says. “ _Melancholy_ or _sentimental_ maybe and angry at myself for forgetting.”

He just nods, and she just keeps speaking. _What is it about him that makes her keep talking?_

“I’m just thinking about who I used to be I guess,” she says, as she tries to explain what’s going on in her head. “Is it possible to mourn yourself? To miss yourself, the person you used to be, or the person you might have been? That sounds batshit crazy doesn’t it?” She can’t help but think how crazy it sounds when she says it out loud. If he didn’t think she’s an absolute mess before, he certainly will now.

“No, not at all,” he reassures her. “I think about what my life could have been like all the time, but it turned out pretty damn good all things considered.” He pulls her slightly tighter against him hoping she can understand what he means but can’t say. The kid has appeared out of nowhere and they both look down at their feet where’s he just playing with her boot laces contentedly. It’s so dark they can just barely see his form backlit by the running lights along the floor. Din’s not reaching for his helmet so it must be plenty dark enough. He’s pulled her more into his side so their faces are practically pressed together along their cheeks in the dark.

“You’re right,” she says honestly. “It _is_ pretty damn good, all things considered.” She can’t argue with that at all. This is the best her life has ever been- _this right here_ in her arms and at her feet. She does have it pretty good, _a hell of a lot better than good_ , and it’s because of this idiot sitting here with his helmet off so she can feel a human connection despite the great personal risk to himself every second his prized possession sits in his lap. Sitting here with him is more than she ever thought she’d deserve after her past painted her a criminal and her own emotional issues made her too damaged to ever hope to find someone who could see her for who she truly was or at least who she tried to be.

“What _did_ you used to be like....before…. I mean?” he asked as the conversation lulled. “You said you were different?”

“I don’t know. I can’t view myself objectively. Soft, maybe. Patient, trusting, fun...? I don’t know.”

“You're still all of those things, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Hmph,” she huffs out disbelievingly. “I’m none of those things anymore, you don’t have to lie.”

“You said it yourself you can’t be objective. I see you Cara, like you see me, and you are still every one of those things; soft with the kid, patient with me, trusting of those who have earned your trust, and you make even the most mundane tasks fun.”

“Say I believe you for argument’s sake. How could I have _forgotten_ though? Tell me that. What kind of horrible person does that make me?”

“You didn’t _forget_ ,” he says vehemently. "You didn’t look at the date, that’s different. The kid was sick all day and there was a lot of shit going on. You shouldn’t blame yourself. As soon as you saw the date you remembered.”

“But I've never _forgotten_ before. It's _all_ I lived for; remembering that day and seeking revenge. If I don’t remember it who will? What good am I being alive when they aren’t if I can’t even be _inconvenienced_ to remember them one day out of the year.”

“You know I don’t think that’s true. You think of them _everyday_ , I know you do, and you are absolutely not a horrible person.” Din leans down to pick up the kid and deposits him in her lap so she can run her hands along his ears. There’s no way to have the kid in your lap and not feel at peace. It would make a much sweeter picture if he didn’t keep pawing at her chest and tugging at her neckline trying to get comfortable.

Din spoke again. “You don't have to live _only_ to remember them or _only_ for revenge. You can live for those things too if you want, but don’t you live for more than that now? What about someone fuzzy and cute who wants to get in your shirt. What about him?” She can’t see Bean’s face, but she can feel him tilt his head up into her palm and coo as if he’s part of the conversation.

“You talking about the kid or are you projecting again, Din?”

He chuckles faintly before letting out a sigh of relief. She must be feeling better if she can come up with jokes like that. He completely ignores her leading question though. He knows better than to get himself in a battle of flirtatious banter with her, even when she appears to be at a disadvantage. The kid, sensing his part of the conversation was over, wiggled back down to their feet to continue his adventure with her laces.

“So, what do you normally do to commemorate?” he asks, hoping maybe there’s something he can do to give her some semblance of normalcy even a day late. Perhaps there some footage she watches or something she reads, some heirloom she brings out or something. He’d never invade the privacy of her footlocker, but he wonders what exactly she keeps in there. They haven’t traveled together long at all, but he learns new things about her every day, and he tries to share pieces of himself, no matter how foreign the concept seems to him.

She chuckles as she questions his choice of words. “Commemorate?” she asks, “trust me when I say it’s not as philosophical as that. I usually just drink until I black out.” She pauses at his lack of response. “Is that not the answer you were expecting?”

That wasn’t out of the realm of whet he expected her to say but he hated the thought of numb inebriation being her only form of comfort through all these years. ‘ _But_ ,’ he thinks to himself, ‘ _if that's what she needed to be alright again he'll sit with her all night to make sure she didn't aspirate her own vomit._ ’ This wasn’t about what _he_ thought she needed; it was about what _she_ thought she needed.

“That’s really what you do every year? By yourself?”

“Last year was a bit of an anomaly. Greef left liquor outside my door and made sure I was alive the next day. But usually, it’s just me.”

“I have alcohol in the galley,” he says, “but if you want to get drunk, I’m drinking with you. You aren’t drinking alone.”

“Usually that would sound like an amazing offer, but I’m not really in a hurry to move right now,” she says, genuinely appreciative of his offer. He wasn’t kidding earlier when he said their armor was all tangled together. Between the two of them they were all hard lines and sharp angles of steel, but this was the most comfortable she could remember being in recent memory. His arm around her was a feeling she hadn’t felt in a long time; being held by someone you care about and someone who cares about you. Thinking back, she has no such memory since her childhood. Of course, it would be a Mandalorian bounty hunter covered head to toe in beskar that would make her feel warm and soft for the first time in forever. She couldn’t say what his presence in her life had meant to her when she was at her lowest back when they met so she stuck with something safe instead. “You’re surprisingly comfortable,” she said as she shifted her weight to press more into his side. He rubbed the side of his face against hers, appreciative of her presence as well. He was doing his best at providing comfort, and he was glad she hadn’t outright laughed at how terrible he was at it. She truly seemed to enjoy his presence at her side, and he felt a stab of guilt at how much he enjoyed being close to her like this when she was hurting.

He huffed out a laugh at her observation though. “No one’s ever described me as _‘comfortable’_ before,” he said, amused that's how she chose to describe him. He was covered in beskar for star’s sake.

“Maybe no one's ever been close enough to tell....” she said, knowingly.

It wasn’t just touch his touch she found comfort in, but his voice and his presence as well. He had absolutely no ulterior motive, nothing to gain, in sitting with her while she worked through her shit but here he was, acting as if this was the most important thing he could be doing right now. That was just _Din_ , and she was grateful everyday their paths crossed when they did.

“Maybe not,” he said quietly. “Or maybe you’re just the smartest person alive.” It was true though no one else had ever gotten this close. Not just to his body and the weak spots of his armor, but to Din himself; the man under the helmet. He used to think he might have gone to his grave without ever finding anyone who really saw him, but then Cara came crashing into his life and he could do nothing except sit back and watch her fill every corner of his isolated existence.

She shoves into his side and they both let out a real laugh. “Well yeah, that goes without saying.”

He took off his glove and tossed it on the floor so he could rest his bare hand over hers still on her thigh. She's still getting over the gut reaction to avert her eyes when he takes of his glove. It feels so intimate watching him take it off....

It was just his hand, but it wasn’t the anatomy that mattered it was the gesture itself. He was making himself vulnerable one piece at a time to make her feel better, to connect with her and it made her feel warm all over. The fact that he took his helmet off before his glove wasn’t lost on her either. He _wanted_ to touch his face to hers or he wouldn't have done it. He must have been as lonely as she was when they first met, but they were slowly learning to be less lonely together. It was a slow and cautious process, but they were moving toward something _more_ that make her feel jittery in her stomach and warm all over when she thought about it too closely.

His hand is so warm as it lays over hers and she's taken by how his fingers are somehow strong but elegant at the same time. She can see across his knuckles where they’ve been broken and healed in the past.

She turns her hand over so that their palms rest together. The metal gauntlets around their wrists were bulky and they had to really reach in order for their fingers to slot together like they wanted. Once their fingers were woven together they closed their hands and simply watched in companionable silence as the kid waddled around their feet.

“I’m feeling less dramatic now,” she assures him after some time passed. “don't worry, I won’t do this again next year.” She felt weird talking about a date that far in the future. She can’t remember the last time she thought that far ahead but he made her want to consider what life could look like a year from now if they stuck together. They had a good thing going, but maybe it would be even better by then. Something was shifting in the air and they both felt it.

“You won’t overlook it next year, I guarantee it,” he says so assuredly that she believes him for some reason.

“How do you know though, if I forgot it –fine, _overlooked it_ \-- I could do it again,” she argues.

“You won’t forget because _I’ll_ remember next year too,” he said. “It’s harder to overlook if two of us are remembering it.”

That got her attention. “You don’t have to do that,” she says, horrified that he would need to pick up her slack on a yearly basis.

“You’re right I don’t. I want to though,” he said simply, like he wasn’t doing her a favor at all. “It’s one less thing you have to worry about. We can share it just as we share everything else like supply runs and laundry.”

“You have more important things to think about, Din, don’t be an idiot.”

“ _You’re_ important,” he says insistently, and somehow those two words mean more to her than the previous hour of them quietly talking. “Really Cara, what do you think matters to me more than you and the kid?”

She didn’t have an answer to that and she didn’t think she had it in her to start any more serious or heartfelt conversations for the next month ( _no, screw that-the next year_ ) so she decided to change the topic.

“There is one more thing I wanted to talk about.”

“Yeah, of course. What is it?” He will talk to her about anything she wants.

“You have a beard that we’ve never talked about,” she said as seriously as she could muster.

“Seriously? That’s what you want to talk about? Yeah I have a beard.” He couldn’t believe her. He had braced himself for another serious conversation and she wanted to talk about his beard. _Of course she did._ He felt like things were getting back to normal. Maybe he actually helped her feel better after all.

“It's too bad I can't se ----” she said before her brain caught up with her and she slammed her mouth shut.

She realized immediately what she had almost said.

“Shit Din, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that, you know I wouldn't look at your face. I can't believe that just came out of my mouth. I must be more messed up today than I thought, I—”

“Cara, stop.” He cuts her off before she gets herself more worked up. “I _know_ you didn’t mean it like that.” He’s much quieter when he continues to say in an honest voice, “I wish you could see it too. It _is_ pretty great as far as beards go.”

She laughs. “Smartass.”

“I can describe it though. It’s dark like the rest of my hair. It’s kind of patchy unless I really let it get long. I have a mustache too.”

That made her smile.

“I bet it looks so lame,” she says, and he can hear her smile in her words.

“Maybe a little,” he admits, sheepishly. “Here, give me your hand,” he requests, and she lets him move their joined hands where he wants to. He raises her hand to touch his chin and up over his lips to his mustache. He surprised her though when he let go and let her run her hand over his face under her own power.

She doesn’t take advantage of his trust in her and doesn’t let her fingers inch any higher than his mustache no matter how much she longs to touch his nose and the soft skin around his eyes. After she has mapped his mustache, lips, and pattern of his beard, she lets her hand rest warmly against his cheek for as long as he’ll allow the contact. She won’t be the first one to pull away; she wants to touch him too badly. He surprises her though; instead of ending the moment and moving her hand back to her lap, he leans his face into her hand further.

“Well, what do you think?” He asked once her palm had settled against his face for long enough that they could both feel their skin starting to sweat. They couldn’t stay like this forever, no matter how much he wanted to.

She could get lost in his voice, unmodified and raw this close to her face. Feeling his lips move under her fingers was addicting and she wanted to feel it again.

“Okay, it’s not _that_ lame. I take it back.”

She could feel his lips curl into a smile under her fingers and she wondered how she would go back to days of not feeling this sensation after this moment passed.

The kid is tugging on her pantleg again. He's so sensitive, he could probably sense her distress this whole time, which explains why he wouldn’t leave her side. “It's okay, Bean, I'm much better now. No need to worry,” she assured him, as Din reached for his helmet so they could turn the lights back up. “Come here kiddo, you want to come up?” she asked before she reached down to pick him up and he plopped down between Din and herself where their thighs were touching.

“I guess you’re hungry aren’t you little guy. Have we been ignoring you?” she spoke to him sweetly, and he perked right up at the mention of food. She went to stand so she could grab the kid a ration bar or meat jerkey but Din stopped her with one final thing he wanted to say.

“I still don’t have a great speech but I will say this, “they wouldn't want you consumed by grief even a single day out of the year. They’d want to you to live and be happy, no matter how long it takes you to get there.”

“That’s the thing though, I think I’m _already_ there and I just never realized it until now. I _am_ happy and I _am_ living, _finally_." She was shocked to realize that she really meant it. After all this time she was actually living again. "Like you said, things are pretty damn good, but If you're still offering, I might take you up on that drink later,” she said with a grin, as she stood up from the bench with Bean in her arms. 

“Thank you for listening to my shit,” she said, as she quickly placed a kiss against his cheek rough with stubble before he could get his helmet back in place. “And for the record, I like the beard, but the mustache is still kind of lame” she added with a smile, as she walked away, headed to the kitchen to get the kid a snack.

“I can always shave it,” he calls out to her as she walks away and he hears her reply of “don’t you dare, it’s not _that_ lame,” all the way from the galley. She seemed to be back to herself; or if not perfectly there yet, well on the road to getting there. He was pleasantly surprised that his words and his arm around her seemed to comfort her. He’d been afraid she’d push his awkward attempts at comfort away, but she actually seemed to find comfort in him. He was glad. It only seemed right, given how much comfort she gave him without even realizing it. They both had painful memories that haunted them, _some days more than others_ , but by speaking them aloud, maybe they could move on together and replace those memories with happier ones.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I know this wasn't super happy like I intended but I hope you found something you liked :)  
> comments make my day, even though its taking me longer to reply than I'd like.  
> Work. blegh.
> 
> One more prompt left to go.  
> have a great day/night


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